Mutiny on the Moonbeam

By Rie Sheridan Rose

Branwyn St. Clair is running from her wicked stepfather when she stows aboard the first ship she comes to. Little does she know it is the infamous elven pirate ship, the Moonbeam. When cabin boy, Johnny Pate finds her in the hold, they form an uneasy alliance.

Life aboard the Moonbeam is not what she expected. The ship soars through the clouds in search of plunder But the biggest theft of all has already occurred...

Filled with unusual characters and thrilling adventure, Mutiny on the Moonbeam offers something for everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mocha Memoirs Press
• Release date: Jul 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386359074

Book preview

Chapter One

L et me go! Branwyn twisted with all her strength against the man’s hold, the bones of her wrist grating against each other as she fought. The resulting pain brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back.

You are my ward, and you will do as I say. The words were hissed between gritted teeth. Eyes narrowed to slits glared down at her in the dim light of the fire in the grate. The room smelled of wood-smoke and damp wool.

Praetor Goldsmith had come home early because of the rain—two minutes more, and she would have been free.

You don’t want me here. You complain daily about how I’m a drain upon your pocketbook. Then let me go! She jerked away, backing toward the door of the study. I won’t say anything.

Say anything about what, you little fool? Do you think anyone in this town would believe your lies over my word? I am a well-respected merchant, and you’re the daughter of a whore!

The words stopped her in her tracks. Take that back, she whispered.

A wolfish grin bloomed on his face. Didn’t you know? She spread her legs for anyone who asked.

You’re a liar.

Doesn’t match the image you have of your sainted mother, does it? Now that he had reasserted his dominance, he turned his back to her, pouring himself a glass of wine.

Rage choked her. She felt herself shaking. She couldn’t believe the words were true, and yet…

She wheeled, reaching for the door handle. She wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. Escape lay in her grasp—

—Until a grip of iron encircled her forearm. Not so fast, my girl. I’m not through with you yet. I will have you to wife!

Fear churned within the rage, and she grabbed the heavy wine-jug from his desk. Swinging it with all her strength, she slammed it into the side of his head.

He grunted and fell, hand relaxing as he dropped.

She kicked him away from her and jerked open the study door. Heart pounding in her ears, she ran through the house to her tiny garret room. She grabbed the bag she’d packed for her escape, hesitating as she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished brass mirror. Her skirts would slow her down. What could she do?

In earlier, happier, days, the household had employed several servants, including a stable boy. Her step-father never discarded anything. She tiptoed back down the stairs, easing into the study.

He lay where she had left him, blood trickling from the wound on his forehead. Biting her lip, she stepped over his recumbent body. A handful of coins lay upon his desk, and she swept them into her bag. In the corner stood a large trunk, and she had seen him put clothing into it on more than one occasion. She searched through it quickly, flinging discarded choices to the floor in her haste. Near the bottom, she found a pair of trousers that fit her and a loose-fitting shirt. She pulled the clothing on, whipping her dress over her head and dropping it into the pile. Twisting her hair back into a tight queue, she tied the end with a length of string.

The man on the floor groaned, and she darted out of the room, her bag clutched in one hand. He was waking up. Only precious seconds remained before he would be on her trail. She didn’t bother to shut the front door as she left the only home she remembered.

Branwyn ran as if her life depended on it—which, indeed, it might. As she passed a guard lounging in the mouth of an alley, he called to her, Oi—what’s the hurry there?

She didn’t dare to stop and explain. Her step-father was right. No one would believe her word over his. But she couldn’t go back to that house. She couldn’t!

Swinging her bag, she clipped the guardsman in the temple, driving him into the bricks of the alley. He slumped to the ground, and she pelted down the cobblestone street toward the wharf. With the gold she had gotten from the study, she might be able to book passage on some sort of ship. Anything that would take her away from here.

A whistle shrilled behind her, and she glanced back over her shoulder. Men stood beside the alleyway with the guard. They would be after her within seconds. She slipped the strap of her bag over her shoulder to free her hands.

Veering to her left, she dove off the wharf into the bay. The water was ice-cold and shocked her system like a knife to her side. Gasping, she fought for control.

The temperature was unexpected. It was the end of Floréal, after all, and winter had retreated in defeat from the valley weeks ago. Only the tallest of the surrounding peaks still bore their crowns of snow, but someone had neglected to inform the water sprites that it was time for the harbor to warm.

Stoically, she swam on, as quickly and quietly as possible under the circumstances. The searchers would be out in force as soon as—ah, there was the clang of the alarum bell now. She must find shelter...quickly.

The ghostly hull of a silver-gray three-master loomed up out of the water, a knotted rope hanging down the side as if in invitation. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bran swarmed up the makeshift ladder and over the rail of the ship. Not wishing to provide any of the searchers with an easy clue to follow, Bran hauled the rope over the side of the ship and coiled it neatly against the rail.

Rough shouts approached the ship’s berth, and torches blossomed like fire-blooms in the night. Casting a frantic glance around the deck, Bran’s gaze lit on an open hatch, and she darted to the opening. A set of steps descended into the bowels of the ship, and she scurried down them without a second thought.

Darkness reigned supreme below decks. Not even the slight glimmer of starlight that illuminated the planks of the deck penetrated into the hold, and she moved forward at a crawl, unwilling to risk alerting anyone with the thud of jarred cargo.

The space contained a jumble of hulking shapes, barely discernible shadows against shade as eyes near accustomed to dark anyway adjusted further. One of her hands groped along the edge of a box for orientation; the other clutched a meat knife she had stolen from Goldsmith’s kitchen with white-knuckled determination. Then, suddenly, the box ended, and Bran’s seeking fingers found only space.

Further examination found a small cubby between two large crates just large enough for her to squeeze into. A third box gave the hidey-hole a solid backing and blocked a casual searcher from seeing the nook. It was better than nothing. At least Bran might sit dry for a few minutes in the relative warmth of the stuffy hold.

With any luck—not that there had been much of it lately—the searchers would sweep the dock then move on. At worst, the little nook was more defensible than being in the open would be.

Bran squeezed into the tiny space and laid her head on the sodden bag. She curled into a wet, miserable ball. When the sun rose this morning, who would have thought that moon-rise would find her in this state of affairs? A runaway fugitive, who might or might not have killed a man or two in the course of flight, cowering in the hold of an unknown ship. It might have been funny if it hadn’t been so desperately real.

Biting back a sob, she strove to take up as little space as possible. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. It couldn’t possibly be any worse.

T witch…Twitch! Are you awake?

Go to sleep, Dazzle. ’Tis nearly sunrise, and we’ve work to do on the morrow.

But, Twitch—I heard someone in the storage hold. Should we sound the alarum?

Not our affair, now is it? Probably just some rat anyway. Ship’s full of ‘em.

But, Twitch—

Go to sleep, Dazz. You’ll wake the others. Tomorrow is soon enough to worry.

Dazzle sighed theatrically and turned onto her side, wrapping her wings more firmly about her. Twitch was probably right. None of their affair. The self-important eairlings manning this ship for Captain Aidrian would pay no heed to faery warnings any way.

Wingless fools! Thought all faeries were good for was weaving spider silk and pixie dust. Someday…why, she’d show them good, she would!

Yawning, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Chapter Two

Johnny Pate knew he was lucky. Not every young man got to crew on an elven ship.

’Course, if his parents had still lived, and the farm had still been theirs, he wouldn’t have either. But they didn’t…or at least his father didn’t—who knew about his mother? The facts to remember were that the farm was no longer home, and he did sail with elves.

At eighteen, he would have been considered a man grown and a full sailor on a human ship, but to the elves, he was just a child and expected to perform as the captain’s cabin boy as well as fulfill his responsibilities as a sailor. He resented it at times and thought now and then about heading off on his own…but he had nowhere better to go. Besides, Captain Aidrian treated him fair. So he stayed.

Luckily, his knack with a hammer and saw had begun to win him favor among the crew, and he was treated as ex officio carpenter aboard the Moonbeam.

Someday, he still might strike out for a berth on a human ship, but for now, the adventure of sailing with the elves outweighed the insults they threw at him. The elves were a funny lot, proud and haughty as princes but unwilling to deal with the human harbormasters any more than necessary—it seemed like fear to Johnny.

He didn’t mind. It meant he got to handle all their dealings with the men of the towns they berthed at, and, by so doing, he was learning valuable skills for when he did leave the Moonbeam.

Another round here! he bellowed to the barkeep of the Flying Fish. The men at his table roared approval. He was the man of the hour as long as his pockets were full of Aidrian’s gold.

Before new mugs could be delivered, the front door of the tavern slammed open against the wall. You lot—come with me, ordered the man framed in the doorway. I’m commandeering you all to help search the docks. A fugitive slut has done a scarper and thinks she can get away with it. Not on my watch!

Who are you then? asked Johnny.

The man glowered at him. You aren’t from around here, are you? Sea dog?

"Aye. From the Moonbeam."

Well, I’m the captain of the city watch, and if I say jump, you fly.

Johnny raised his hands in appeasement. Anything you say, officer. Come on, lads. Should be fun.

This brat injured one of my men, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. A man was robbed and left dead on the floor of his study. My man might join him afore the night is out. I’ll give every man Jack of you fifteen gold lunars when we find the cur.

Fifteen lunars was a fortune—even to the well-paid Johnny.

Let’s lend a hand. Good exercise if nothing else. He rose to his feet and led the way to the dock.

They searched till dawn, but no sign of the thief was found. Exhaustion on top of the drinking earlier in the night made Johnny feel like his head would explode if he moved too quickly.

On top of all that, the rope ladder he had left dangling down the ship so he could re-board at his leisure had been removed when he arrived at the ship. He slunk up the gangplank, expecting to hear about his absence sometime today. It was so seldom that he had a chance to carouse with fellow humans that he’d gotten quite carried away. Perhaps the search for the fugitive would be enough excuse to explain where he had been to Captain Aidrian, but he wasn’t counting on it.

In addition to his other duties, Johnny was expected to wake the faeries and give them their daily work assignments. The elves also refused to deal with the little winged ones any more than absolutely necessary, calling them talking bugs, even if they were all fae-folk.

Johnny didn’t mind performing that job either. He was quite fond of Twitch, Dazzle, and the others. They were teaching him a bit of their faerie talk, and he was teaching them the common tongue he spoke with the elves.

Carrying the faeries’ tray before him, he placed his feet with exaggerated care, so as not to spill any of the nectar or drop any of the berries. How the little ones lived on fruit and honey, he couldn’t understand. Give him a thick steak and a boiled potato any day…but, to each his own.

Hullo, my lovelies, he called softly, as he juggled the tray and opened the door to the faery cabin. How fare ye this fine day?

Dazzle darted at once to the front of her cage. She was his particular favorite with her sunny gold curls and lilting little laugh…but today, her blue eyes were shadowed, and she clung to the bars with an earnest frown.

Oh, Johnny—something’s not right. Not right at all!

Calm down, me precious darlin’. What has ye in such a state? Tell Johnny.

Twitch glided to the front of his own little box. Don’t listen to her, John. She had a start in the night, and she imagines there are bogies in the hold.

Did ye hear anything, Twitch?

Not a sound, lad, and neither did the others. He gestured to Rose and Flit and the other fae. All shook their heads in support of Twitch.

Well, I’ll just take a look ’round for Dazzle’s peace of mind, Johnny promised, favoring her with a gap-toothed smile. You can never be too careful. Here ye go, my beauties. He proceeded to dole out their breakfasts. Not too difficult a day today. We set sail soon, and all the captain requires of ye today is a mite of patching on the mainsail. Shouldn’t take more than three o’ ye to fix. I’ll be around to collect ye after I check the hold.

Dazzle made a little face. The sails will always need mending…we’ll never see the forest again, will we?

The wistful hunger in her voice broke Johnny’s heart. Now, now, me darlin’—ye know Aidrian is a man—elf—of his word, and he told ye he’d trade ye out for new as soon as he kin cat—find some fae to take yer places.

Aye, lad. But that’s been seven years gone. He mustn’t be looking too hard. Twitch sounded almost amused, but Johnny knew he was serious about the statement.

I know, sir…but we do search. I’ve been there meself on many an occasion. There aren’t many free fae left.

All the more reason to open these cages, seems to me, Twitch said pointedly.

’Tain’t up to me. Johnny shrugged. Guess I’d best be checking the hold now.

He picked up his tray and ran a light finger down Dazzle’s cheek. Don’t ye worry, little lovey. Ye’ll see yer forest again. I promise.

He stepped out of the cabin, closing the door carefully behind him and locking it with the special key Captain Aidrian had entrusted to him. There was some magic about the silver